Broadway
by Ellyrianna
Summary: No one ever said that roommates had to get along. However, they usually don't wind up falling in love with strangers, either. AU. Leon/Yuffie, Cloud/Aerith.
1. Wintergarden

|Disclaimer: Everything is © Square, and I take no rights to anything but the story.|  
  
----~----  
  
Two alarm clocks buzzed simultaneously; however, even though the clocks were of the same make, had the same ring, and had the same luminous, red digital letters that threatened to blind early-morning eyes, the two people that owned them would face two separate decisions regarding the warning relayed to them each morning at precisely seven forty-three A.M.: Get up, get dressed, face the vileness that was work, or ignore the jolt completely and fall back asleep.  
  
In the room on the left side of the hall, a rather lanky sixteen-year-old had managed to disentangle herself from the snakes that used to be a fluffy white comforter and pale sheets, short raven hair knotted, wiry, and totally unacceptable for the early hour. Rising with caution as she waited for the sudden assault of the room blurring and a buzzing rocketing around her ears, she also listened in vain for signs of life in the apartment otherwise: she was, as always, greeted with none.  
  
She sighed, running a hand distractedly through her messy hair as she began to half-heartedly tug on her daily apparel: khaki cargos that pulled taut with a drawstring at the knee, a short-sleeved, green T-shirt, fishnet gloves yanked up to her elbows, and a yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck. As she was attempting to brush out her bush of a hair, she heard her roommate's alarm clock go off for the second time - and for the second time, he refused to answer it. She rolled dark indigo eyes, realizing with growing anxiety that she, like always, would have to wake him up. However, although she enjoyed seeing him look off-guard and positively groggy in the morning, she didn't enjoy having to pummel him with all of the usual excuses: getting fired, not being able to pay his half of the rent, getting them both evicted, so on and so forth.  
  
"For once I wish he would just get up by himself," she muttered, snatching up the black backpack that had been abandoned at the foot of her bed since the night before and charging valiantly into the kitchen: she figured that she at least deserved the luxury of having a cup of coffee before facing the beast.  
  
----~----  
  
When she finally worked up the courage to enter his dimly-lit room (which, she was proud to acknowledge, was far messier than her own), she found that his alarm clock had been swept off of the mahogany nightstand and onto the grubby green carpet, where it lay half-submerged in a pile of last week's socks. She muttered something under her breath about the ever-accumulating amount of laundry, but refused to think about the dry cleaning when faced with the task set before her: rousing the lion.  
  
"I have coffee. I actually went out and BOUGHT coffee today for you, Mr. Big Business Man, so you better get up off of that sinkhole you call a bed and get moving before it turns cold and I waste two fifty for a latte from Starbucks," she said acidly, stepping around the mountains of discarded clothes to the bedside, where a bit of the ponytail he kept his long, bristly hair in at night poked out from under a mound of pillows. When he didn't so much as move a centimeter, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly and tried another verbal attempt before going in for the kill. "Please? I really don't want to go back into the emergency room when you snap my wrist . . ."  
  
The incorrigible man didn't move or even acknowledge that he had heard her, which was usually the case: he slept like a rock. Finally, suppressing a shudder, she reached out and shook his shoulder.  
  
He sat bolt-upright, glaring at her with blazing azure eyes as if he'd never been asleep. "Don't touch me," he hissed, watching her hand, suspended in the air, slowly retreat back to her side. She groaned something and rolled her eyes before exiting the room, leaving the man to his own tangled bed sheets and a beeping cell phone that he refused to answer.  
  
----~----  
  
"Answer that bloody thing already; its driving me crazy," his roommate prompted as he stepped into the room, disheveled but dressed and hair loosed of the night's ponytail - it was his attempt to keep it as straight as possible so he wouldn't have to resort to borrowing her brush, as he always forgot the simple task of going down to the drugstore and picking one up.  
  
"Don't get all uptight with me. Did you say you had a latte?" he asked seriously, scanning the minute countertop for the aforementioned coffee.  
  
"Not until you answer your phone," she replied, smirking, holding the coffee out of reach as if tempting a four-year-old to clean up his room to get a cookie. He muttered something inaudible that sounded like 'abusing your privileges', but answered the phone, which immediately sprung into life on voice mail.  
  
'Squall, you're late - again. C'mon, don't keep doing this to me! You're my partner, and if they fire you, they're gonna stick me with some moron!' Cloud's voice blared over the speaker, and Squall hit the 'off' button before the phone could shout anymore reprimands his way.  
  
"I keep telling you to set your clock later," his roommate mused from the counter, where she was examining his drink with mild interest, trying desperately to hide the smirk that threatened to emerge.  
  
"Can it, Yuffie - as if I need you to keep telling me these things," he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the chair back and the latte from Yuffie before bristling out like an enraged bulldog.  
  
Yuffie stifled a laugh as the door slammed behind him; the small New York apartment wasn't nearly large enough to huff across, yet he managed it just fine. She really didn't know why he continued to room with her since he obviously couldn't stand her - it wasn't just for the rent, that much she knew, as he could handle that just fine by himself, even if he was resorted to eating fifty-cent bagels from the street vendors. It certainly wasn't Cloud pushing him to keep her; it was his sister's friend that answered Squall's plea of needing a roommate, supplying him with HER best friend, which turned out to be oddly relating back to Cloud, but really the doing of the man's sister. Cloud, after learning that Squall could now take care of the rent on his own, had practically begged for his partner to get rid of Yuffie; said it would 'make him more punctual', when in fact if she DID leave, he would never get out of bed.  
  
She ran a hand distractedly through her hair, grabbing her own cup of now ice-cold coffee and checking the watch they kept on the kitchen counter. It was 8:02. Time to go, she realized with a sigh, but karate lessons certainly didn't teach themselves. Glancing down at her attire, she realized that this was not what one would be wearing to teach little brats the martial arts, but figured with a shrug that she could always throw one of the white robes over it. And Aerith certainly couldn't handle the load on her own while she took the time to change, so it was settled.  
  
Coffee and keys in hand, she braced herself for another one of those days.  
  
----~----  
  
Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm usually not into AU fics, but after finishing _The Devil Wears Prada_, I had a good idea for a modernized version of our favorite couples, set in New York instead of Traverse. See - they're still roommates, she still has SOMETHING to do with being a Ninja, and he still is his usual serious, adamant self.  
  
Expect the next chapter soon; it's fun to write, since I love New York with a passion and enjoy stretching my author's privileges.  
  
As always - REVIEW!! I wanna know what you think! Please! 


	2. St James

---Disclaimer: I gotta stop being so nice and giving you all disclaimers . . . but here. *chucks a box of disclaimers into the crowd* Knock yourselves out. (Most of them read: this is for fun and entertainment, to honor the game that is Kingdom Hearts, so don't sue, because all I've got is thirteen dollars, not counting the twenty-one that's set to the side for my Two Towers DVD.)  
  
---Author's Note: Thank you DarkKairi1! You're review made me feel oh-so- special ^^ Stupid FF.net won't let me read the second one, so I can't thank (or destroy) the second reviewer - yet. *evil laughter* Oh, and I had to change Yuffie's age - I don't think a sixteen-year-old would be living with a twenty-five-year old as little more than acquaintances in Manhattan, and if I put her in high school, it makes her sound immature. So she's a freshman in college. I considered every option, and it just wouldn't work any other way. Sorry.  
  
----~----  
  
"I'm taking Aerith out to a club tonight. You want to come?"  
  
"What? Pinkie?"  
  
"Who's Pinkie?"  
  
Squall put a hand over his face to cover the smile that threatened to break loose. He was leaning heavily on his miniscule desk, as opposed to Cloud's behemoth one - the monolith piece of furniture threatened to take over one whole wall of the enormous New York University classrooms, although most of the students preferred to think of them as auditoriums, as they could honestly be - although the real auditorium was more than thrice this size. Row upon row of empty seats greeted the already-tired eyes of both Cloud and his intern like manna from heaven; they didn't have another class for the next ten minutes, which they considered a lifetime.  
  
"Pinkie, Aerith - doesn't she work with Yuffie?" Squall asked distractedly, waving his hand to brush off the subject. However, the professor stuck to it, leaning across his desk to fix his intent blue stare upon the novice seated uncomfortably next to him.  
  
"Okay, spill it - how do you know Aerith? C'mon, I want every last detail - she's MINE, Leonhart!" Cloud growled menacingly, beginning to rise slowly, as if to draw every last particle of fear out of his coworker's mind. Squall merely rolled his eyes, leaning back in the cheap swivel chair the university had provided and propping his feet up over the worn blotter on the desk.  
  
"Listen, she's all yours - I'm not into those 'pretty-in-pink' types. I just know her because Yuffie made me swear on penalty of death that I would escort her to that little shack they work in for a week to make sure that no one in the rather . . . unhealthy neighborhood would bother her. She calls me 'macho' and says I would 'scare half of them away if I so much as looked at them.' I was forced into meeting Aerith one day while I was waiting for Yuffie to finish changing," the brunette explained, scrubbing a hand through his bristly locks.  
  
Cloud sunk into the chair again, but not without shooting Squall a look of warning before completely letting down his guard. Finally, he slammed his forehead onto the desk, pounding acidly with his fist over the dark wood.  
  
"I really like her, Squall, and she seems to genuinely tolerate me, which is saying a lot - you know it. But . . ." The blonde man's would-be lengthy interlude was suddenly silenced as a roar greeted the two men from outside of the frosted-glass window that was placed so appropriately into the door: the faces of uncountable students, features distorted in the way the glass was made. Squall suppressed a shudder and finished the last of his once- replenished latte (he had managed to make it all the way down to the nearest Starbucks and back in under four minutes, what Cloud considered a new record) before taking a deep breath, cleansing himself briefly of any hate or strong feeling towards these uncultured adolescents, and stood, looking like the responsible twenty-five year old he was. Skipping a grade had really paid off in the end.  
  
"Prepare for the onslaught," Cloud said seriously, walking around to his mammoth desk to the door with a grave face. "If we don't make it out of this alive . . . I'll make sure my insurance company pays for your funeral, too."  
  
"Thanks. It's good to know I've got friends in this world," Squall said sarcastically, hoping it wouldn't come to that. As Cloud's hand closed around the brass knob, his intern advised, "Brace yourself." Cloud nodded and saluted the brunette, and Squall returned the gesture - of respect, of determination to face these rowdy sophomores, and of the will to survive long enough to have a third cup of Starbucks that day.  
  
----~----  
  
Yuffie Kisaragi flopped down on the cold, hard subway seat, a Styrofoam cup of chai tea in one hand and her keys in the other. Work had been, like always, frustrating and annoying - a student at Brooklyn College during the school hours (a trek in itself; she was drained every time she managed to make it from Manhattan to Brooklyn and back), and then teaching those brats that flooded out of the infinite public schools the fine art of karate. Although it barely managed to sustain her half of the rent, she enjoyed what she did, if merely for the sake that she had a rather lengthy list of friends and enjoyed being barefooted and kicking at nothing. Those stupid kids could be overlooked - it was her passion for the martial arts that drove her to endure their whines about the required uniform, the mats being too slippery, or some other unimportant complaint.  
  
Yet now . . . she was free. Free of screaming ten-year-olds, writing record- breaking essays in terms of length, and wearing apparel that she not only despised, but all-out loathed. Even Aerith, who worked the financial part of the martial arts program, had to admit that the uniforms could do with a little revising.  
  
"So just order up some new ones! Everyone agrees," she had stated sourly not two weeks ago, pacing across the woman's tiny office.  
  
"Sorry, Yuffie, but it's just not in the budget. We can barely afford to keep this place going as it is; new robes are just out of the question," the pink-clad woman had explained gently, holding a fax in one hand and twirling her thick, light brown braid in the other.  
  
The eighteen-year-old groaned at the mere memory of that frustrating afternoon. One session had been particularly adamant, and she had resorted to physical violence when a thirteen-year-old said he could 'bowl her over with a feather.' Of course, she had proven him wrong; however, the next day his mother called to confirm that Tidus would no longer be attending Yuffie's sessions, and would be with the -other- instructor, a one Riku . . . something or other. She wasn't sure she had ever really HEARD his last name, although it hardly seemed to matter.  
  
As the subway pulled to a screeching halt, Yuffie bounded up and out of her uncomfortable seat and weaved her way through the throngs of people, managing to break out of the endless masses and jog up the littered steps, where she emerged on a street she barely managed to get the name of before jogging onto the shoulder of the road. Disoriented as she was, she knew that the apartment was about sixteen blocks away - and, even if it was a small distance to some, she didn't have the patience for it now. Extending her right arm high into the air as a cab flashed by, light off, she growled as it ignored her and tried again. On her fourth attempt a yellow taxi finally pulled over, allowing her to clamber awkwardly into the backseat as she tried to keep her tea from spilling.  
  
She gave the cabbie the directions in a rushed voice; she was hoping to catch Squall for dinner. She was trying, day by day, to get him to open up to her, and she figured that one way was over Cosmopolitans, and that was probably the easiest. The man was a bit of an enigma to her, although she was inescapably drawn to him, like a moth to the flame: she couldn't leave him alone. She would find herself staring at him like some sort of hopeless teenager (she shoved the thought that read 'But you ARE' into the deep recesses of her mind) with her mouth hanging open, and he would turn and glare at her like she was the oiliest, most rubbery burrito he'd ever eaten. The only reason she compared herself to a burrito was that she had actually met him over a rushed dinner of those, when Cloud hastily introduced the freshly-graduated woman he barely knew to a stoic, abrupt colleague who merely shoved the papers under her nose that allowed her to live in the apartment and all of the other legal stuff that she didn't read and merely signed.  
  
She made sure not to give the cabbie any extra money for his fine job speeding down the crowded Manhattan streets; he had practically robbed her as it is. Slamming the door shut while tipping a hearty helping of tea down her throat, she hurried to the building and shoved in her key, turning it sharply and entering when admitted. She would have just buzzed up to him, as she really didn't feel like exerting the extra effort to actually let herself in, but she didn't know if he was in a Foul Mood or a Really Foul Mood, and it was best not to tempt him.  
  
The elevator ride was jerky and made her slosh half of her tea down her front, and for once she was grateful that the November air had chilled it off decently - she only felt a slight sting as the liquid sunk into those Gap cargos that she had saved so much for. She never, EVER bought from the Gap - too expensive, too overrated - but those pants just wouldn't leave her alone. She began seeing them everywhere, and, finally, she relented to her subconscious and bought them. Nearly thirty-something dollars for them, too, she had realized with a groan as she looked at the receipt.  
  
Hastily unlocking the door to the apartment, number 219, she immediately chucked the rest of her tea and sprinted at top-speed into her bedroom, slamming the door shut and forgetting the usual after-school-and-work stare that she usually gave Squall - he was leaning heavily on the miniscule countertop in the half-kitchen, like he did on every hard surface near him, poring over the Times.  
  
"Hey," he called out to her, irritated that she hadn't even acknowledged him. Her open-mouthed stares were starting to grow on him.  
  
"What?" she called back distractedly, yanking on a pair of faded blue jeans. The cargos lay in a ball on the other side of the room, and she was surprised to see that she actually remembered to make her bed that morning.  
  
"You wanna go out for drinks with Cloud and Aerith tonight?" he shouted, thumbing over a few pages and skipping the Sports section.  
  
Yuffie stopped dead, her left leg halfway into her pants, indigo eyes wide. Had . . . Squall Leonhart just asked her out? No, she told herself firmly, shaking her head and pulling the jeans up. It was a group thing. But . . . since when did Squall do 'group things'? He barely did single-person things. "Uh . . . sure? What time?" she hollered back, snatching up a yellow bandana from her dresser and using it to pull back her stringy raven hair.  
  
"Now, if you'd finish whatever it is you're doing," he growled, and she heard the distinct rustle of the Times being folded roughly. He was never one to be punctual, but anything she did wrong seemed to annoy him - although sometimes she did it on purpose, just to see his 'mad face.'  
  
"Fine, fine, I'm ready," she muttered, emerging in a chai tea-free pair of pants and tightening the scarf around her neck against the November chill. She had just enough time to seize her overcoat before he was out the door, leaving a slightly disoriented Yuffie in his wake.  
  
----~----  
  
Hah! The chapters are getting longer. But I don't want to seem informal, so I'll just say this: please, please, PLEASE review! Thanks ^^ 


	3. Studio 54

---Disclaimer: Everything is © Square.  
  
----~----  
  
55 Bar made Yuffie grimace as she came in. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted throughout the crowd, and even the loud, lively jazz music playing heartily in the back couldn't stop her from wishing she hadn't come. It took all of her restraint no to grab Squall's wrist and trail behind him like a little puppy, but fear of touching him and engaging his wrath was enough to make her clutch her own arms in fear. He had changed out of the stiff suit that was appropriate for work, and a leather jacket took its place with red wings stitched onto the back partially covered by his mane of bristly brown hair. He looked so different out of work context: heavy leather pants with about four belts that were unneeded, bangs brushed away to reveal an odd, diagonal scar between his eyes that Yuffie had never gotten the nerve to ask about. He seemed even more dangerous out of his neat apparel, and the eighteen-year-old assumed that that was how he was making it through the crowd so easily.  
  
"Yo, Squall!" Cloud's voice was barely audible above the din to Yuffie, although her roommate seemed to have heard it with ease; he tore through the crowd easily, making it even more difficult for her to catch up to him. When she finally skidded to the small table that Cloud and Aerith were seated at, he was already trying to ignore the blonde's persistent jokes about what he was wearing, fingers threaded through his hair and lips moving nonstop to form the word 'whatever'.  
  
"Hey, Yuffie! I didn't expect you'd be coming along; I forgot all together that you were rooming with him," Aerith said pleasantly, jerking her thumb in Squall's direction. "Cloud mentioned a Leonhart, but I wasn't paying attention; I just wanted to get out with him for the night, friends or alone. It's pretty funny how it worked out, really," she added, motioning to the four of them.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Real funny," Squall remarked sarcastically, not looking at anyone.  
  
Aerith hid her look of distaste and instead whispered to Yuffie, "Night the brightest star in the sky, I take it?" Yuffie nodded shortly.  
  
"You don't know the half of it," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. There was an odd silence for a couple of minutes in which Squall was fuming, Cloud was checking his cash supply, and Aerith and Yuffie were staring at the men, unsure of what to do.  
  
Finally, Cloud offered, "How about a drink? That's what we came here for anyway, right?" His encouraging smile was enough to make Aerith lift a corner of her mouth, although Yuffie remained unchanged, and Squall's frown deepened.  
  
"Sure," Aerith said supportively, and the blonde flashed her a grin before waving over a waitress with a short, lilac skirt under her black apron and auburn hair that seemed darker in the dim lights of the bar. She produced a pad and pencil out of nowhere, indigo eyes shining.  
  
"Yeah?" she asked, sounding a bit distracted, but all together pleasant.  
  
Cloud squinted at a button on the corner of her apron, and then leaned back, looking up at her with his most polite smile. "Aerith and I want a margarita, uh . . . Kairi," he said, fighting to remember the name on the miniscule button. She gave a short inclination of the head to acknowledge his request, and then turned her eyes on Yuffie.  
  
"Oh, umm, me? Uh, yeah . . . just a club soda, thanks," she said, unsure of what to do in this situation. One reason she didn't like 55 Bar was because she didn't like most bars in general: she, unlike a lot of people, never did hold her liquor very well. Kairi went through the motions of scribbling an order onto the pad, and then glared at Squall, as if asking why he hadn't already supplied her with the necessary information.  
  
"A glass of water," he said, so curt and clipped that Kairi didn't even bother trying to argue her way into another drink. She merely pocketed the pad, muttered something about five minutes or so, and disappeared into the throngs of people.  
  
"What? A glass of water? C'mon, Squall, you're here to enjoy yourself tonight!" Cloud protested once the barmaid disappeared, electric blue eyes looking pleadingly into azure ones. Yuffie knew where this was going; she twirled her scarf around her finger expectantly, waiting for the blow to fall. Aerith looked tense, unsure of what to do in a last-ditch attempt to keep everything peaceful.  
  
"Don't . . . start on me," he said in a low, openly venomous voice. Yuffie quirked an eyebrow, twitching her cheek. Why was he acting so defensive? Nobody had done anything to him; he was edgy, but she'd never seen him actually get mad over something so stupid as a glass of water.  
  
"Hey . . . what's up with you? You're never this touchy," she stated, reaching out to place a hand over his. He jerked it away, the leather glove gliding smoothly across the tabletop and falling onto his leg. Yuffie bit her lip, curling her fingers inward and gently placing her hand over the space where his used to be, and felt chest contract. So what? He'd jerked away from her hundreds of times before; why did it hurt now?  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," he said coldly, looking her in the eye with a narrowed glare. She returned it just as fiercely, balling her hands into fists. Why was she acting defensive now, too? Some kid must've hit her harder than she thought.  
  
"Well, that's no surprise, now is it? You barely say two words to me all day, yell at me for waking you up out of the goodness of MY heart so that you won't get fired, then up and ask me out for drinks without so much as a please - and now you're lashing out at me, like I did something wrong! You know what, Squall Leonhart? I think you're a bloody moron with serious problems," Yuffie shouted, unaware until she finished that she was standing up and shouting in the middle of a jazz club in Manhattan. After she realized that, she came to terms with the fact that 'bloody moron with serious problems' wasn't exactly a heart-wrenching insult, but since the truth was that she didn't want to jeopardize her living accommodations, she didn't want to go all-out swearing, like that Riku guy did when the kids started getting on his nerves.  
  
"Didn't need you to narrate it for me!" he spat back, rising halfway before Cloud stood and put a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat. It was then that Aerith made her move, waving her arms wildly, emerald eyes wide.  
  
"Stop it! Come on, people, be rational: Yuffie, close your big mouth for once and let him be, and Squall, just chill, please?" she tried, but her attempt failed miserably as she was overruled by the eighteen-year-old raising her voice above her friend's.  
  
"Who else is going to? You don't give anyone else the time of day - God, Squall, you barely talk to me, and I'm you're roommate! And since you obviously can't stand the presence of other people, why did you come out here tonight, bringing me along, of all people?" she shrilled; by now a good portion of the bar was staring at them, sipping their drinks in anticipation of the counterattack. Aerith covered her face with long, slender fingers, embarrassed to the point of a few limp tears, and Cloud was working hard not to drive his fist through the table.  
  
"Because --" he began hotly, intending to say something, although he quickly shut his eyes and turned his head away. When he finally opened his eyes again and turned to face her, he stood, stating in a low voice that resembled a growl: "Whatever. I'm sorry I even bother." With that, he kicked back his chair and stormed out into the chilly November streets, leaving behind him a coworker, an acquaintance, and a roommate.  
  
----~----  
  
"Can I please stay with you tonight? My roommate and I really aren't on the best of terms right now, and I don't want to endanger myself with the rabid lion. Please? I already asked Aerith, but her cousin's staying over, and she says her apartment is about the size of a peapod. You know I wouldn't be asking you unless placed under threat of torture, so . . ." Yuffie begged into the payphone, shivering from the cold and clutching her coat close to her with her free hand. Her breath frosted the glass on the phone booth, hands shaking a she waited for the person on the other end to answer her.  
  
"Kiddo, I told you that when you gotta room, I wouldn't keep lookin' after you if you got into scrapes. You gotta stop comin' to me, hear?" a gruff voice finally said over the line, and the eighteen-year-old breathed a sigh of relief: in Cid Highwind lingo, that meant, 'Yeah, but I'm not happy about it.'  
  
"Thanks, Cid," Yuffie breathed, her voice shaking from the cold. If November was this bad, she dreaded what December would be like. "I'll be there in a few minutes; and don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch, I promise!"  
  
There was a rumbling on the other end that sounded suspiciously like 'Yeah right,' but Cid responded in a firmer voice, "Yeah, sure. Just make sure that you get yerself outta here as fast as you can - I'm not bein' yer nanny anymore!"  
  
"Yeah thanks bye!" Yuffie said in a rush, hanging up the phone with a loud "clack" as she attempted to dodge another one of Cid's 'you're in college now so you have to take care of yourself' speeches. That man was truly a saint, even if he was incognito: her second cousin, although she wasn't REALLY related to him; everyone in her family merely referred to the rather eccentric man as the 'second cousin,' possibly because he acted more like family than some of the first cousins.  
  
Yuffie shook her head, pushing open the phone booth door and jogging down the street in hopes of catching a cab. It would probably be easier just to walk, but by then her shoes would be nothing but laces, and she really wasn't up for that. Yeah, this was certainly a winner of a day - arguing with Squall, losing another kid on her shift, having to stay with CID - man, it didn't get ANY worse than this.  
  
"Yuffie!"  
  
A voice she recognized as familiar, if not very often heard, rang from down the street, and the eighteen-year-old swiveled on the spot, turning on her heel to see, with a lot of surprise, that Riku kid, panting as he staggered up the street to meet her. She jogged back down and met him halfway, indigo eyes widening as she noticed a bruise that was forming around his right eye that would take on spectacular multicolored shades in a few hours.  
  
"What happened to you?" she asked, breathless, examining the silver-haired (she didn't know where it came from, but, surprisingly, it looked good on him) teenager with a mixture of shock and confusion.  
  
He laughed bitterly. "What else? I got mugged. Why do they always assume that teenagers carry around loads of money?" Yuffie hissed in sympathy.  
  
"Anything I can do?" she asked, scrambling in to dig a few extra coins out of her jeans pocket.  
  
"Yeah - can you call Sora for me?" When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he explained, "A friend of mine. I live with my older brother, but he's not home from work until later, and I don't want to bother him - he's a good guy and all, but work's tough. Sora'd let me stay over even if it was an hour before his SATs." Yuffie nodded, still somewhat confused, and motioned to the payphone she had left behind.  
  
"C'mon, you can call Sora or whoever it is, and I'll get you a cab, right?" she said, trying to be helpful. He nodded emphatically, and she pushed him towards the phone booth while she attempted to hail a taxi. When she finally did and put Riku in the backseat, she realized with a groan that she was now broke, as she had given Riku money enough for his cab ride.  
  
Swearing angrily, she pounded half-heartedly against the side of the payphone, then sank to her ankles and hugged her knees tight to her chest. Tonight, she decided firmly, sucked. Sucked worse than most nights ever even came close to. She was so absorbed in finding every possible explanation for how totally vile that night was that she didn't notice the scraping of boots across the sidewalk, or the creasing of leather as arms folded.  
  
"Get up," Squall demanded, and, Yuffie, so completely oblivious to him before, jerked her head up so fast that she hit the side of the phone booth. Growling in frustration, she rubbed the back of her head and stood slowly, blinking open one eye to look at a positively freezing Squall - short-sleeved leather jackets didn't do much in preventing November's chill, which had returned in full-force once Yuffie was brought back among the aware.  
  
"What're you doing here?" she said, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.  
  
"This way goes by Cloud's place; he told me I could stay for the night. But since you obviously had similar intentions but with no way of fulfilling them, I decided to cut you some slack and invite you back to the apartment without the overload of snarky remarks that you deserve," he said dryly, fishing around in his pants pocket for enough money for a cab fare.  
  
"Gee, big of you," Yuffie replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes, although, in a few ways, it was; for a minute she felt like a Jewish girl at a Seder table, reading out of a booklet the start of the Four Questions:  
  
Why is this night different from all other nights?  
  
----~----  
  
Fact: 55 Bar is a real bar. Never been there, but I looked it up on Google, and it is, in fact, a real bar. I was tempted to make them go to the Kit Kat Club, but, unfortunately, that's merely part of the wonderful show Cabaret.  
  
Fact: The whole Seder reference is completely, utterly correct. I'm Jewish, so I know it - do not question my authority! *defensive stance*  
  
Fact: If you don't review, I won't do a chapter a day, like I so enjoy doing. So, in easiest terms: review! Please! 


	4. Majestic

|Disclaimer: I forgot that I was supposed to make this fic look neater, therefore making the disclaimers in between these thingees. So please ignore it if I somehow revert back to the old ---Disclaimer: thing, because looking 'neat' is a new thing for me. *dies* Anyway, disclaimer . . . go buy one. I had an exhausting soccer practice, so I'm really not in the mood for a disclaimer that nobody REALLY needs, as I'm doing this just for fun and entertainment, right? No profit involved? Perfect. *wink*|  
  
----~----  
  
It was as if all of the forces in the galaxies had gone into some state of shock, stopping some unseen force that kept boundaries up between certain people, made rivalries what they were, and let romance turn into love - like the cosmos had all burned up and taken down fate with them, slamming right into a person's conscious and telling them to wake up from a coma they'd been in for a year, even if they were walking, talking, and aware of their surroundings. It was as if someone tore a shell off of Squall Leonhart, a protective outer coating that he had been hiding under for the year that he had been rooming with this eighteen-year-old, and finally pushed him out into the sunshine from a lifetime of being in the dark - and he was just now getting a suntan.  
  
He blinked, azure eyes trying to focus on anything other than Yuffie. The frigid air had left her face pale, and, just as they were trying to hail a cab, the sky up and poured down on them, soaking them to the bone in the few minutes that it took for them to finally nab a taxi. So, in addition to her now paper-white skin that made her look like a Japanese geisha -- only a lot more attractive - she had stringy raven hair that clung to her high cheekbones, framing her face and highlighting the immense indigo eyes that were focused intently on the teapot.  
  
"Squall! Are you okay?" The intern jerked his head up to face her, eyes sliding back into focus as he fought to find the thread of her words. She was looking at him concernedly, a box of teabags clutched in one water- covered hand.  
  
"What?" He blinked before answering, trying to name what she was getting at. "Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?" Yuffie's brow furrowed and a look of worry came over her features.  
  
"I was asking if you want any tea," she said slowly, unsure if he had amnesia or something like that. He hadn't drunk anything for the little while that she wasn't with him, had she? Or had he hit his head on the cab while bending down to clamber into the passenger seat?  
  
He grimaced. "No," he said acidly, and her face relaxed. So he was alright. The thought snapped into his head that he had been rude - since when did he ever have that thought? - and he quickly scrambled to apologize. "Thanks. No thanks," he amended, although it sounded more than forced. Yuffie set the water to a boil and started to strip off her clinging overcoat that was partially fused to her arms. Her eyebrows quirked up to the point that they were nearly invisible under her sopping bangs, yellow bandana or no.  
  
"You sure you're feeling alright?" she asked uncertainly, shoving the coat, rolled up in a ball, into a small closet that was barely big enough to house the three jackets, broom, and umbrella they kept inside it.  
  
"I said I'm fine! What, my word's not good enough for you?" he snapped, standing up abruptly from his seat on the couch, which was old and worn soft and nearly too comfortable with use, which made getting up an unwanted chore. The few mismatched pillows that they had somehow acquired were heaped at one end, while a stack of magazines, old newspapers, and discarded tests that Yuffie had completed or Cloud had asked Squall to grade but never got around to was at the other.  
  
"Yikes, I ask you one question and you blow up at me! Some compassionate man you are, Squall!" Yuffie quipped sarcastically, glaring fiercely at him. It seemed as if a repeat of the argument at 55 Bar was about to follow them here, just when he wasn't being half as vile to her as usual.  
  
"Suck it up, Yuffie!" he shouted back before storming down the hall and slamming the door to his room behind him.  
  
Yuffie sank down onto the couch where he had been moments before, slowly easing her hands up over her too-dry face, wet bangs dripping over her cheeks like tears. Tears? Why was she crying? She hurriedly scrubbed her arm across her eyes before curling onto her side in a fetal position, hugging a pillow tightly and biting her lower lip. For a half hour, for just a half hour, she thought that he was capable of affection - he talked with her, he found her, he shoved her into the apartment door first to escape the rain. Why did he act like that after blowing up at her before, which wasn't even directed at her, but Cloud? And then, just when she thought that he was capable of the kind of compassion that went with the angelic face, he warped into some unknown beast and charged down the hall like an angry bull.  
  
A muffled ring sounded off vaguely from underneath her somewhere, and she faintly remembered burying the cordless under the couch cushions to keep any more angry parents away. Muttering something that sounded like 'everything would be a lot simpler without phones,' she dug it up and reluctantly hit the ON button.  
  
"Yeah?" she said dismally into the phone, stretched out on her back, head against the mountain of pillows and feet propped up on the stack of old, yet-to-be-recycled papers.  
  
"Yo, are you comin' tonight or what? You gotta let me know this stuff before you go ditchin' me, right?" Cid asked, and Yuffie didn't even have to be there with him to know that he was waving his arms around like a madman.  
  
"Nah," she replied, ignoring the whistling of the kettle. "My and my roommate made up . . . sort of . . . so I'm staying here. But thanks anyway; I really appreciate it," she said, trying her best to sound uplifting and cheerful. Cid's stoic disposition didn't provide him with much of that.  
  
"Yeah, well, juss call next time, right?" he asked, and Yuffie nodded into the phone.  
  
"Yeah. Right, later," she said abruptly, slamming her fist over all of the buttons at once and chucking the cordless across the threadbare rug on the floor. Massaging her eyes to relieve them of any further emotion, she tried vaguely to remember what it was like before anxiety had ripped her life away from her - and then there was that pile of homework she had dumped in her room when changing to go to the club with Squall. (Now she wished she had done all of that stupid reading.) Groaning tiredly, she didn't know how she managed to drag herself off of the couch, completely forgo the kettle, and manage to crack open a Psych book before her eyes slid out of focus and the words blurred into long, black lines.  
  
----~----  
  
Squall swore loudly as his razor cut across his cheek, leaving a gouge that blood quickly rushed to fill. By the time he had grabbed and wet a washcloth, it was dripping in a steady stream down his neck, and he hurriedly leaned over the shallow sink in hopes to save one of his only clean shirts from becoming in some way stained, like all the rest. Wiping the cloth none too professionally across the whole right side of his face, he only cringed as the cloth met the new wound and did little to stem the bleeding. When he finally realized that he had to hold the cloth in place if he wanted something to happen, the kettle whistled loudly in the narrow kitchen and made him jump; the cloth slid from his hand and landed on the cold, beat-up linoleum of the only bathroom, located conveniently in his room.  
  
Although only one side of his face was shaven clean, he decided to give it up for the night and abruptly threw the bloody razor into the sink, turning on the hot water tap, out of which poured ice-cold fluid that made his hand smart as he reached in to snatch up the now-clean blade. Hissing venomously, he hit the tap and stowed the razor in the cheap medicine cabinet above the sink, only resulting in a plastic shelf breaking and a load of toothbrushes and empty packs of dental floss raining down on him.  
  
He fought the urge not to swear again, which was extremely hard, as he trashed the floss and attempted to fit the shelf into place. After his fourth try with no luck, he threw it into the still-draining sink, slammed the medicine cabinet shut, and stomped back into his bedroom, where a messy sight greeted him, as always. Half-heartedly kicking all of the laundry into one large pile in the corner of the room, he had only gotten one of four belts off when he realized that he really wasn't in the mood for the taking off of every thing he was wearing - quite a lot, he realized with a barely-suppressed groan of frustration - and merely flopped down onto the large, marshmallow-esque bed that one could just melt into, burying his face in a pillow.  
  
Why, tonight, did Yuffie look so beautiful? Why, tonight, did he feel so strongly about taking her back in one piece to the apartment? Why, tonight, did he blow up, comfort, and then blow up again at an eighteen-year-old? He was twenty-five, for crying out loud; he was surprised there wasn't a law against the two of them living together. He hadn't drunk anything out of the ordinary; his customary three coffees a day hadn't changed - unless he was driven to extremes at the sheer amount of money that he spent on those lattes, although that seemed highly unreal - and nothing seemed out-of- kilter . . .  
  
Except him.  
  
He chased thoughts like these around in his mind till about two-sixteen, when he became aware that he had a load of hair in his mouth - precisely one of the reasons for the nightly ponytail. He had barely enough sense to get it up into the rubber band before remembering to fling his arm over the side of the bed, fish around until he found a box-shaped device, and then place it back on the nightstand next to him before slapping out the nearly worn-out bulb and just giving in to the exhaustion that came with nights like these.  
  
----~----  
  
Wasn't as long as the last chapter, and its earlier than when I finished that one (around 1:22 A.M.; last one was done at around 2 A.M.), but I think its still pretty good, all things considered. Well, as always, review! I thank all those who have reviewed already; you encourage me so much ^^ *passes out 'I Lurve Squall' pins* 


	5. Palace

|Disclaimer: I do not own KH; everything is © Square.|  
  
----~----  
  
It was like picking petals off of a daisy when she was little, trying to decide if the shy boy with the long brown hair in her kindergarten class was the right one for her. Yuffie stood in Squall's doorway, head cocked to one side as she contemplated whether or not she would wake him up. After all, he had been more than rude to her last night - then again, he had found her, paid for her cab ride home, and above all invited her out with him in the first place. But then there was that little episode at 55 Bar, and then back in the apartment . . . she just couldn't make up her mind. Did he have good intentions, but too cold a heart to show them? Or was he merely trying to suck up to her to make her pay for more of the rent this month?  
  
She bit her lower lip nervously, desperately searching for an answer. It would be like betraying him if she didn't wake him up, forgoing her insignificant relationship with that all-too endearing intern and giving up any hope that he had any emotions, even profound dislike, towards her - even when he spoke unkind words to her (the exception being last night), it didn't sound like there was any emotion behind what he was saying. She drummed her fingers against her forehead; eyes slammed shut tightly, trying to make her decision.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she knocked loudly on the doorframe, having silently flung open the door already. Much to her surprise, he stirred, a few pillows dislodging and tumbling to the ground in soft feathery puffs while one hand reached out to slam the Snooze on the alarm clock, even though it hadn't rung yet. Yuffie had fallen asleep over her Psych book last night, and woke up at five forty-four to find her nose in the spine of the book and her breathing coming none too easy. She had turned off the clock so as not to bother her as it tolled the hour, but couldn't fall back asleep and ended up booting up the computer and finishing an essay that was due that morning.  
  
When the clock didn't do anything, she noticed that his head turned towards the nightstand and one bleary, azure eye popped open, staring confusedly at the tall red numbers that made his eyes burn. Seven sixteen. His other eye opened, and he sat up halfway, blinking at the clock as if expecting the numbers to shift. When it became apparent that they wouldn't, he swiveled his head to face Yuffie, whose arms were crossed in defense, although her eyes showed confusion. He didn't have that gouge marring his perfect face yesterday . . . did he? No, he didn't, she assured herself. What happened to him?  
  
"Uh . . . do you sleep with sharp things in that bed, or did that cut get there magically?" Yuffie asked slowly, taking a step back for defense. Squall's eyes focused on her, and he was about to come up with a snarky retort when he realized that it was Yuffie he was talking to, and closed his eyes briefly. Taking a deep, calming breath, he attempted to soothe out any anger that had risen, remembering that in no unclear terms he was trying to amend his attitude toward her - or that was what he decided last his brain was in perfect functional order, about two minutes before he decided to finally give in to sleep.  
  
"I cut myself shaving," he said, with as much patience and calmness that he could manage. Yuffie quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"Are you alright?" she managed to get out once the fear of being tackled, growled at, or merely given the look of death had passed.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, trying to keep his voice smooth. A grin twisted the corner of Yuffie's mouth, and she took on a jaunty pose, one hand on her hip and the other dangling down by her side, soft indigo eyes gleaming mischievously.  
  
"What's up with the sudden burst of civility? I thought it was all angles and sharp planes," she asked, ignoring the fact that his hair was still up in a ponytail, making his odd scar more prominent, and, to her, adding another spurt of handsomeness to his already long resume.  
  
"I wanted to a-a-apologize for l-last night, because . . ." he stammered, pausing to fish around for an excuse other than his angry tirade. "Because I broke the shelf in the bathroom," he said proudly, grinning despite himself. Yuffie put a hand up to shield her mouth; she had never seen him act like this before. Being calm and collected was one thing, but making JOKES? Something was seriously wrong here. Quickly striding over to the bed, she slammed a hand against his forehead, watching him seriously. "H- hey! What're you trying to do to me?" he spat, no longer able to maintain his steady course of near-niceness.  
  
"I think you're ill; fatally so. Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked, all serious. He blinked a few times before he pried her fingers off of his forehead, rolled, hard on his side, off of the bed, and stood, staring at her as if she as brandishing a six-foot-long pitchfork in front of him.  
  
"I'm fine! What impression do I give off that I am in someway hurt, sick, or just disoriented?" he asked, straining visibly to keep his voice from rising considerably.  
  
"You - you're attitude!" Yuffie stammered, pointing at him as if he had four arms. Silence reigned for a few minutes, and then he put his hands over his face.  
  
"Is it really so hard to believe?" he asked quietly through his fingers. "Am I really that bad?" Yuffie found herself biting her lip again, trying hard not to nod. Her nails ground against her skin, hands balled into tight fists at her side. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Squall dropped his hands, fished a pair of clean pants, a relatively unharmed button-up white shirt, and his leather jacket out of a pile of laundry and disappeared into the bathroom, muttering something about being late for work.  
  
The alarm clock blared into life on the nightstand, shouting its warning to the only person standing in the room, who stared at it as if she had never seen anything quite demonic in her whole life.  
  
----~----  
  
"C'mon, Squall, we've had this discussion before . . ." Cloud began, exasperated. Half of the students in the room were looking up from an exam to study the intern, forehead pressed to his miniscule desk, one fist closed so tightly around a pen that the ink was starting to leak out over his fingers. He looked truly exhausted, and had explained in a half-dead voice that he had cut himself shaving, which explained for the odd-looking cut on his right cheek.  
  
"I. Hate. Women," he said pointedly, not looking at the professor. Cloud nodded sympathetically, but didn't say anything; he was meeting Aerith again tonight, this time for a more romantic dinner down in Little Italy at a place that the account herself had suggested.  
  
"Don't I know it. But man, we have students here. Please try to make a good impression," the blonde begged, casting nervous blue eyes at the class, which was watching them intently. "Refer back to your exam if you want anything more than a failing grade for the whole lot of you. Go on, you know I'd do it!" Cloud managed rather convincingly, and the class grumbled before poring over their tests once more, although a few kept shooting Squall odd looks between questions.  
  
"I'm serious. I mean, I never really was good with women, and I was fine - but now . . . !" He gave an animal-like noise that sounded like 'grr' and pounded his fist on the desk.  
  
"Now what?" Cloud prompted, immediately interested. He had known his intern long enough now to consider him a friend, and he knew of his anti-social antics. This was certainly new.  
  
"Yuffie!" he blurted out.  
  
Cloud blinked a few times before repeating stupidly, "Yuffie?" Squall glared at him, and he shook his spiky head, regaining his composure. "Her or you?"  
  
"Me," Squall said miserably, letting the pen fall with a small "click" of plastic meeting wood. Cloud hissed in sympathy, but couldn't do anything more: he couldn't help this socially-inept man; he had never had him deal with anything like this before. "What should I do?"  
  
Cloud glared at the class for a moment, reminding them of their exam, and then focused on Squall. "Well, take her out. No, no, nothing like dinner or anything," he said hastily at Squall's look of death. "Just for . . . coffee, or something. You both like that, right?" His intern looked at him angrily. "I'm not helping, am I?" the blonde asked nervously.  
  
"Nope," Squall responded dryly, then threaded his fingers through his bristly brown hair. "Well . . . I'll just have to do something on my own, then."  
  
----~----  
  
I'm evil. That chapter sucked. But now we know that next chapter'll be interesting - what horrific endeavor will Squall think up, hoping to please Yuffie? We all know he's not good at these kinds of things . . . and what will Yuffie say?  
  
As always, review! I'm so happy - 18 reviews for four chapters? Yay! You guys make me so happy; I might do another chapter tonight because this one was late. 


	6. Lunt Fontane

|Disclaimer: Everything is © Square.|  
  
----~----  
  
"Yuffie, I just wanted to know if you want to go out with me tonight. Yuffie . . . I figured we could use a night out to get rid of last night. Yuffie . . ." Squall repeated sayings like this under his breath, pacing the small living room like a lion best deciding how to eat its quarry. If he was going to ask her to the place he had finally decided on, it had to be in a neat, casual way - like someone would with a friend. Even though he did not technically constitute as a friend . . . but that could be set aside. He was very sure that this was the perfect place to take her, and guaranteed himself repeatedly that she would like it. "Yuffie . . ."  
  
"What?" Yuffie's voice rang clear, and Squall's head jerked up involuntarily. Her keys clattered as she set them down on the battered coffee table, stripping her long overcoat and smiling at him. {Why is she smiling?}, he thought anxiously to himself, wringing his hands as he tried to lean casually on the counter; however, his nervousness caused him to slip and slide onto the cold linoleum. Yuffie's eyes widened as she dropped her black backpack onto the rug, trotting over to him.  
  
Kneeling next to him, she attempted to offer her hand in helpfulness, and it took him a minute of staring at it before he realized what he was supposed to do. Taking it, she helped him to his feet, concern knitting her eyebrows together. "Are you . . . alright?" she asked worriedly, not for the first time in twenty-four hours.  
  
"What? Oh, yeah, fine," he answered after a moment, the thoughts of exactly why he was nervous flooding back instantly. "Oh, hey, umm . . . Yuffie? I was wondering if you . . . want to . . . go out . . . with me . . . tonight?" he stammered, forcing himself to look up at her. He had tossed his jacket aside, hot from pacing, and his shirt was halfway unbuttoned; he hurried to do it up again, trying not to look too laid-back.  
  
Yuffie's intense indigo eyes widened considerably, and she had to lean against the miniscule counter for support. Squall Leonhart, asking her out on a date? Something was seriously wrong here, or else she was dreaming, although the nervous, embarrassed expression on Squall's face made her doubt that. She took deep, calming breaths, trying to keep herself steady, although it wasn't working. He couldn't have guessed . . . no. No, he was just apologizing for the night before, that was all - or at least she tried to convince herself that.  
  
"Uh . . . sure, I guess. Where to?" she responded after a delayed period of time, and a whole mass of air seemed to deflate out of Squall's chest, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
"Surprise," he said breathlessly, as if coming back from a grueling, ten- mile run. She nodded her head too quickly, nervousness creeping up and attempting to strangle her. A date . . . with Squall Leonhart. Tonight was seriously, seriously wrong.  
  
"R-right. Surprise," she repeated, trying to sound excited, although far from it. He couldn't have guessed; she wasn't THAT obvious, was she?  
  
----~----  
  
"O-okay, don't look . . . don't look . . ." Squall kept repeating, as if she would try. He had made her solemnly swear to keep her eyes covered until they reached wherever it was that they were, his hand clasped tightly around one of her wrists as he dragged her around someplace extremely quiet. He had made her shut her eyes throughout the whole cab ride, not wanting her to be able to map out the route. {She'll love it, she'll love it,} he kept telling himself inwardly, hoping it was true. As he steered her around several large things - which she guessed vaguely to be outcroppings - he led her down what felt like an alley, but a lot more spacious. Finally, he took a deep breath and pried her fingers away from her face.  
  
Yuffie's mouth fell open. This . . . this was the big surprise? The LIBRARY? The New York Public Library? He had led her into a row of shelves, and, on closer inspection, all of the books on the shelves appeared to be about martial arts or ancient Japanese samurais. Yuffie shut her mouth slowly and turned to look at Squall. Genuine excitement covered his face, as he obviously thought that these were best-laid plans, what with her being a karate instructor, and her talk of Ebay-ing shurikens just for the heck of it.  
  
The eighteen-year-old's bewildered expression softened as she looked at him. He really thought that this was perfect for her, that she would love this. She should have known that Squall, the socially inept twenty-five year old that he was, would think of a first date this . . . non-romantic. His azure eyes glittered with hope that he had made a right decision, that he had impressed her with his choice of setting.  
  
Finally, she sighed resignedly and said, "This was . . . really sweet, Squall. I . . . really appreciate it," she said, smiling in what she hoped was a sincere way. The intern's expression only improved, and a small smile formed where there had been a slightly worried line, and Yuffie felt her own eyebrow quirk; it was a rare feat that he smiled.  
  
"Seriously?" he asked, unsure of what to think. Had he done something right?  
  
"Seriously," Yuffie repeated, and, to ensure her point, she drew out a few random books and held them close. "I . . . want to take these home to study," she said in an all-too convincing voice, and Squall thought he might pass out from the pleasure of having pleased someone.  
  
"Great!" he said happily, and a bit too loud; a woman strode over quickly, hands on her hips and auburn hair hanging low against her chin. Indigo eyes glared at them, and for a vague instant Yuffie and Squall both thought they knew her.  
  
"Uh . . . where have I seen you before?" Yuffie asked hesitantly, shifting the books under her arm.  
  
"I don't know," the surprisingly young woman snapped. "I work at 55 Bar, so you might've seen me there, but I also part-time over here. I've gotta pay for my car, you know!" she hissed.  
  
"Kairi, right?" Squall tested, and she rolled her navy eyes angrily.  
  
"Yeah, whatever. Can you please keep it down? I've got a study group of NYU scholars over there, and it looks important, so either keep it down or leave, got it?" she growled, and both student and intern nodded quickly. Without another word, Kairi stalked away, muttering about respect. After a moment or so, Yuffie glanced to Squall.  
  
"Well. . . its only six. What say we get a bite to eat as well? And please, not at a bar again," Yuffie added hastily, hugging the books and walking swiftly out between the shelves.  
  
"Right," Squall agreed, and thought a minute. "We could always join Cloud and Aerith; he left me the name of his restaurant, just in case, even though I doubt he wants us. However, if he sends us packing, there's plenty of restaurants in Little Italy to choose from. Or else we can just binge on cannolis at Ferrara's for a while," he added, stifling a laugh. Yuffie checked the books out, and together they hurried down the steps of the library, taking into account the softly spiraling snow.  
  
"True, very true, Mr. Leonhart. But, might I ask - would you consider this a date?" She couldn't help it - the question had gnawed at her for what seemed like hours after she took her hands down from her face. His face paled as he stopped his attempts at getting a cab.  
  
"Well, ah . . ." He paused, unsure of what to say. "I guess."  
  
Yuffie smiled softly, hailing a taxi on her first try. "Good."  
  
----~----  
  
Aww, Squall's got a bad concept of where to take girls for dates and Yuffie's too blinded by love (and his inane prettiness) to contradict him. Cute couple, no? Well, at least I'm progressing with the relationship. Squee~  
  
You disappoint me! Only one review for the last chapter? Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . well, review, or else I won't update tomorrow! *maniacal laughter*  
  
Oh, and I also had a cunning plan - since I named this fic Broadway, I figured that, being the literary genius that I am, I would make all of the chapter titles the names of theatres. Heh. Was very smart on the bar scene, making it Studio 54, in which Cabaret is now showing . . . nightclub? Cabaret? Get it? *shakes head* Ah well, *I* thought it was clever. 


	7. Biltmore

|Disclaimer: The disclaimer ran away after being harassed one too many times. He left a note here saying: 'I am not responsible, I do not own anything, so you can't sue me', signed 'HA HA HA'. Temperamental little fellow, eh?|  
  
----~----  
  
A pigeon flew away as Squall kicked a loose rock at it, the stone rolling to a halt and tipping over the edge of the curb and into a sewer beneath. The shops lining the street weren't open yet, but all of the restaurants were - especially the bagel shop, and a man standing outside waving around the things wasn't helping. Squall turned his head away to ward off upcoming nausea; he couldn't bring himself to even drink the latte that Yuffie brought home that morning - he hadn't remembered when he had had a dinner quite as filling as the one last night.  
  
New York never slept, and was still busy during the early morning, although it paled in comparison to how clogged it would get within the next few hours. He left an hour before he was due at the university every day just in case of a surprise parade or street fair, which happened more than one would think. Hands shoved in his pockets, head bowed to keep out as much of the inviting (yet nauseating) aromas, his heavy coat dragged around his ankles - more like a trench coat, he realized. He was spending way too much time examining Yuffie's wardrobe, from her long overcoats to floor-length karate robes. This particular beauty was his father's, and he had dug it out of hiding (it had been stored craftily away in a cardboard box in the back of the closet) for the chill November weather.  
  
He grinned despite himself as he thought of Yuffie, mentally checking off the box next to 'devise perfect date.' She had seemed to genuinely like it, which made him happy - and then she had managed to locate Cloud and Aerith's restaurant while they were still there. Although that might have been for the worse, since Cloud gave them the death stare as soon as they entered Umberto's. The Italian had been a good idea (not that you could get much else in Little Italy), and afterwards, just like he had suggested, they had found beloved pastry shop Ferarra's. It had been a good night all in all, and they had dragged themselves back to the apartment freezing, laughing, and so full that they thought baked clams would just start bursting out of their stomachs.  
  
A quick tapping on the sidewalk behind him made Squall freeze, and he wondered vaguely if pickpockets were out this early. 'Probably,' the thought dismally, and edged his way over to a few newspaper vendors, pretending to be fumbling in his pockets for the correct coins. However, before he could even manage to look convincing, a pair of gloved hands grabbed onto his shoulders, and what felt like a rather light person spun in the air using his shoulders as leverage, and before he could try and get away, Yuffie landed in front of him with a broad grin on her face, hands clasped in front of her.  
  
"Hey! I threw up this morning!" she chirped, indigo eyes shining with delight.  
  
"Thanks for sharing," he replied dryly, although leaving out the greater amount of sarcasm he had intended for. She barely flinched at his comment, and continued on in a great turmoil of happiness.  
  
"That means I can't go to school, because I'm sick! So I get to spend the day with you!" she quipped instantly, and struck out to latch onto his arm.  
  
"W-what? N-no, you can't! I-I've got classes to help Cloud with; you can't come! I'm just an intern, Yuffie; having you there could blow my whole internship!" he sputtered, clearly not happy about it. He tore his arm away from her, backing away slowly. "G-go stay at the apartment if you're sick!" Yuffie pushed her lips into a pout.  
  
"But its so boooooring in the apartment, Squall! Please? Just this once? I'll leave at lunchtime if I'm such a pain, but I promise I won't be! You won't even notice I'm there!" The joy in her voice reverberated off of the restaurants and shops around them.  
  
He groaned loudly and drew a hand down his face. "That's what they all say in the movies, and they end up getting into more trouble than one could imagine. Yuffie, please stay home?" However, he already knew the answer, and didn't wait to start going back up the street, Yuffie clinging to his arm like a four-year-old.  
  
----~----  
  
"'Won't even notice I'm there?'" Cloud mocked, looking at Squall with wide eyes. "Squall, this class has all sophomores in it! Don't you think that they'll notice a new student, and a younger one at that?"  
  
"I know, I know, but she wouldn't leave me alone!" Squall moaned, stripping off his long coat and hanging it over the back of his cheap swivel chair. "Man, being an intern bites . . ." he muttered, testing out the limited amount of recline on the chair.  
  
"What if she pukes during class? Or starts waving to your or something equally stupid? C'mon, Squall, get a grip!" Cloud slammed a fist on his mammoth desk, and Yuffie's head jerked up. She had been strolling along the lines of the tiny desks, elevated one row above each other, and now she grinned at the two men below.  
  
"I can't . . . I can't just throw her outta here. C'mon, its only for a few hours; how bad could it possibly get, huh?" he begged, trying to get Cloud to see reason.  
  
"For your sake, I hope you're right," the blonde muttered, groaning inwardly as the sounds of sophomores racing in the halls greeted his tired ears.  
  
----~----  
  
". . . You don't look so good," Yuffie said quietly, taking a seat opposite the irritated-and-sick-looking intern. He merely growled at her, not having the strength to let loose his safe-full of insults that he kept hidden away for just his reason. The morning had been a disaster, from Yuffie needing assistance in getting textbooks to the girls (or co-eds, as Squall and Cloud referred to them as) of the class giggling whenever he stood up to lecture them about something-or-other. Yuffie hadn't done anything really embarrassing, save maybe answer a question or two of his and then blush furiously; the other students had made it much, much worse. By the time class was over, he had wanted to throw up and kill all of them at the same time, and darted out to the nearest Starbucks in order to nab a mid-day latte.  
  
"Yeah, well, you try being humiliated in front of your whole class and keep a cheery disposition," he said acidly, pushing the coffee away. His stomach hadn't agreed with it, and now all he wanted to do was curl up in the window seat and forget about the university -- and his crappy day.  
  
"Sorry. I didn't think I was doing anything really wrong -" she began, but he cut her off with a firm shake of his head.  
  
"No, sorry, that didn't come out right. I'm . . . not blaming it on you. The other students are just such adolescents, its hard to deal with sometimes. I . . . great. It's starting to snow," he muttered, gesturing vaguely towards the large, inviting windows. The sky had been prepping to open up all morning, and finally the clouds gave way and huge, spiraling snowflakes drifted lazily onto the busy Manhattan streets.  
  
Yuffie was scrutinizing him intently, hands protectively covering her own stomach, which had been threatening to turn all morning. "I'm serious, Squall. You look sick or something," she tried, feeling that way herself. 'Should have stayed at the apartment,' she mused silently, turning her head away from the coffee that sat innocently on the edge of their miniscule, square table.  
  
"And you don't?" he shot back, obviously irritable in the current state. Maybe a few days ago she would have spat something back as equally venomous, but right now she could tell that he was just being . . . well, Squall, for one matter - and a sick Squall had to be a LOT worse than a healthy one.  
  
"Listen," she said after a minute, drawing her overcoat tighter around her, "I'm going back to the apartment before I puke all over you, okay? You look like you could use that as well, you know. Anyway, I'm calling Aerith when I get there, and my professors to tell them. Just . . . try not to get sick all over Cloud, you hear?" she told him sternly, and waited - about two minutes - for a nod before saluting him and exiting the coffee shop.  
  
----~----  
  
Uh-oh . . . Squall and Yuffie have a stomach virus, which means that there's gonna be the taking-care-of-each-other thingee. Anyone who knows me knows that I can't get by in a fic without having a sickfic bit, so I hope you don't mind. Its just another way to further improve their relationship.  
  
Anyway, sorry for the late chapter. Today was the day The Two Towers came out, and since I usually do the chapters at night, last night I was watching anime up the wazoo (Inuyasha and Blue Gender, which ROCKS). Well, enjoy! 


	8. Circle in the Square

|Disclaimer: Mr. Disclaimer is still on an extended hiatus. He sends his deepest regards, and tells you to view the other pages for a disclaimer, since he's much too angry to do anything about it right now.|  
  
----~----  
  
"Bad day?" Yuffie tried as Squall came in, angrily slamming the apartment door closed behind him. He was back a half hour before he needed to be, but she could sympathize; in her current state, she didn't think that she could have made the whole day like he did. She was curled in a ball on the couch, the magazines, papers, and old newspapers shoved under the coffee table, with her pajamas on and her hair hanging limp in her eyes. The kettle was sitting forgotten on the counter, for Yuffie had instead made green tea in a tea set she had bought at a street fair a couple months back, with one of the small, intricately worked cups sitting before her on the small table. The night had come rather swiftly, and although the stars couldn't be seen with all of the lights and smog, the near-darkness came in through the unveiled windows.  
  
"How'd you guess?" he muttered, tossing his long overcoat into the closet without bothering to hang it up first. His bag followed that, being tossed at the door to shut it without having to exert the effort. Squall had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and was running his hands through his hair, finally maneuvering over to an under stuffed armchair and plopping down without regard that his cell phone was buried under the cushion. He closed his eyes, propping his feet up onto the coffee table.  
  
"I called Aerith and told her I wouldn't be in, and then called all of my professors - all of them! - and told them. Nobody really seemed to care, except Aerith, telling me that Riku would have to take my shift. Then I called Cid, and he told me to drink tea" - she gestured vaguely to the countertop - "but not too much or else I'd throw up. Again," she finished, rubbing her temples.  
  
"Anything else interesting happen?" he asked, trying to sound lively and concerned, although it failed miserably. His coffee didn't agree with the stomach virus - he had concluded that that was probably it - and was now protesting loudly by making his stomach speak for itself.  
  
"What do you expect?" she asked in an overly-loud voice that made both of their heads hurt. "Nothing, not a thing." A few moments of silence reigned, and then: "C'mere and lemme see you."  
  
"What?!" he asked sharply, eyes opening fast and staring at Yuffie as if she'd grown an extra head.  
  
"Just lemme look at you! And get yourself some tea while you're up; it does wonders," she added, hugging a pillow to her chest. He merely stared at her for another minute before mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like 'fine' and stood, making his way to the counter and pouring a small cupful of tea. He sniffed it warily, and, at an encouraging smile from Yuffie, downed it in one swallow. He blinked at it for a minute, and then dropped it with a crash and ran out of the room. Yuffie grimaced; that set had cost forty-five dollars.  
  
When he came back, his hair was in a ponytail (courtesy of a rubber band) and he looked like a cross between livid and exhausted. He didn't bother going back to the chair; he merely sat down on the other side of the worn couch, head in his hands. Yuffie watched him tentatively for a few minute before he finally said in a low, tired voice, "Yeah. That helped."  
  
Yuffie's face brightened. "I knew it would!" she said happily, slapping him on the back. His eyes were wide for a moment before he finally mustered the will to look at her, sending a scathing glare her way. However, it didn't seem so bad, for some reason; she gave a small giggle and hugged her pillow closer. "It never seems so bad if you throw up once."  
  
"Can we please get off the topic?" he begged instantly after she finished her sentence, and she nodded happily, dropping the pillow and bending down to pull up her heavy black book bag. Out of it she drew a thick book somehow relating to biology, which had several sticky notes in random places throughout the book.  
  
"Can you help me with this? I don't understand a word of it," she asked, flipping a few hundred pages to the last sticky note and shoving it toward him. He squinted at it, turning the book around to face him, but then she snapped, "Now I can't see it!" He rolled his eyes and shifted on the couch so that the book was between them, but then whenever one leaned closer to the page, the two of them smacked heads. "Okay, this isn't working," Yuffie muttered, rubbing her head for the third time.  
  
"What was your first clue?" he muttered acidly, but she didn't retort as she would have; the comment didn't have as much force as it used to. There was a moment of silence, and then he said in a quiet, half-hearted voice, "C'mere."  
  
"What?" Yuffie looked up at him, startled. He was leaning against the arm of the couch, half sitting up with his legs stretched out in front of him. What did he want from her?  
  
"C'mere, this way if you lean your head like this" - he cocked his own to one side - "we can both read it." It took a moment for this to register in Yuffie's brain. He wanted her . . . to touch him? Lean against him, no less! She spluttered incoherently for a minute or so, and he gave her an odd look. "Are you . . . okay?" 'Why won't she . . . ? Ah. That's it. She hates me, I forgot,' he mused inwardly, and gave out a soft sigh of what sounded like utmost regret.  
  
"Y-yeah, but Squall . . . are you . . . do you . . . alright?" she stammered, hugging her book tightly now that she had discarded her pillow.  
  
"Its alright, I'm alright, so come here or I can't help you," he snapped, getting angry. If she didn't want to, she could just say it.  
  
"Yessir!" Yuffie prompted, and scrambled to lean up against his chest, trying to ignore the feeling of absolute delight that threatened to bubble up and out of her stomach in a fit of shrieks of 'He's practically HOLDING me!!'  
  
"Right," he murmured, putting his arms around her so as they could both hold the book. She leaned back against his shoulder, and, she noted with glee, that if she were only a couple of inches higher, her cheek would be right up against his. However, she had to settle for his chin against her temple, which was just fine by her. "Okay . . . so what's the problem?"  
  
"It's over here; I can't understand th -" She stopped abruptly in mid- sentence, looking up at him. He looked as tired as she felt, her first clue being that his eyes kept sliding shut, although he was concentrating intently on the size four Verdana print in her book, trying not to show any weakness. His stomach was making odd gurgling noises under her, and she giggled, feeling her own reply as the stomach virus rumbled around.  
  
"What's so funny?" he asked through a yawn, and she sidled closer to him so that their arms brushed just when he exhaled.  
  
"Nothing," she said quietly, and slid down along the soft couch cushions so that her ear came to rest over his stomach. She laughed quietly, feeling it vibrate under her.  
  
"What are you *doing*?" he moaned exasperatedly, tipping his head backwards. She closed her eyes softly; he was the only one holding the heavy textbook now, and she knew that his grip was slackening. It was oddly comforting to feel the gentle grumbling of his stomach under her ear, something long forgotten but reminding her that someone was next to her - rather, under her. She kept her eyes closed like that for several minutes, and when she finally mustered the urge to open them, Squall had leaned his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed tightly, soft, short lashes just barely brushing the skin and webbing with each other. She smiled, so softly that he wouldn't have felt it against his stomach had he been awake, and squirmed to get closer to him, closing her eyes again and vaguely thinking that she should get sick more often.  
  
----~----  
  
I know, I know, this chapter was short. But it was sweet! Aww, Squall being kind and Yuffie being . . . Yuffie. But they're so cute together, admit it! And I just love the thought of his hair in a ponytail. Okay, enough said; go review! C'mon, you know you want to!  
  
Review Button: Click meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 


	9. Virginia

|Disclaimer: Must . . . resist . . . urge . . . to . . . kill . . . go see the other chapters for a full disclaimer.|  
  
----~----  
  
"How do you have a spare key to the apartment?"  
  
"He said just in case. How should I know? It comes in handy, though, doesn't it? And why'd you bring pasta?"  
  
"Hey, don't dis the pasta . . ."  
  
Cloud was fumbling in his pocket for the emergency key he just knew he had taken before he left his own apartment, Aerith tapping her foot impatiently behind him. The hallway was small, and just the two of them with their parcels was enough to make the place look crowded. They had both agreed that it was a stroke of pure luck that they had managed to find each other, of all people, in the city, and that their closest friends (or one of them) managed to be a roommate to the other's. Fate, Aerith had decided instantly, although Cloud had snorted loudly and just said that it was coincidence. But even now the pink-clad woman was convinced that it had to be some wonderful stab of fortune that Cloud had an extra key; otherwise, they would never know what was going on. Neither Yuffie nor Squall was answering the phone, and what with the intense amount of rain currently pouring down on the city, it made them a bit uneasy. And Cloud, being the gallant hero he tried to be, had charged to his friend's rescue with the emergency key that Squall had entrusted to him.  
  
"Víola!" Cloud said proudly, opening the door with a grand flourish. Aerith merely rolled her emerald-green eyes, stepping into the apartment and shifting her shopping bag onto her hip. However, she nearly dropped it when she saw the sight before her, and Cloud himself stumbled backwards, hanging onto the wall for support.  
  
Yuffie was curled up on Squall's chest, sleeping soundly with her eyes closed tight. Her raven black hair was tangled and knotted, and her plaid pajama pants, which were already too big for her, had slid down her ankles and gathered in puddles over her feet. Squall himself was still fully clothed, hair pulled out of his face and into a ponytail, head leaning against the back cushions of the couch. He had one hand on top of one of Yuffie's shoulders, the other half-holding a heavy science textbook that was leaning over his hand precariously and threatening to fall onto the couch cushions.  
  
Once the shock of seeing the two of them together - and in such a comforting position no less - had set in, Cloud and Aerith took in the rest of the apartment: the shattered tea cup and spilled green tea on the tiny, linoleum kitchen floor; Squall's bag, leaning against the closet door; Yuffie's half-open book bag that seemed on the point of overflowing. And then there was a most unsettling noise coming from what had to be the toilet, obviously having seen too much sickness that night. Aerith grimaced at the thought, and turned to Cloud, about to say something, when she noticed his white face.  
  
"What's -" she began, but he cut her off, stuttering and stumbling over his words.  
  
"H-he's touching someone. Touching someone, he's touching someone . . . touching a girl, Squall Leonhart has contact with a female . . ." he shuddered, continuing on in a similar fashion. Aerith clapped a hand firmly on his shoulder, taking him out of his dream-like state.  
  
"Calm down, man. I'm sure they're both just . . . really . . . delusional," she tried, but it didn't look like it. Either Squall had gone crazy, or Yuffie had knocked him unconscious just to have a few hours alone with him. Both the first and second were highly improbable, but what other explanation could there be?  
  
"Well, we've gotta wake them up. They're obviously mad, or at least Squall is, so we need to wake them up and get them - or him - over to the closest safe institute as possible. Okay . . . you wake them up, and I'll hold them down," the blonde said unsteadily, but cracked his knuckles all the same. Aerith stifled a laugh, but nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I think you're right. Even though it's Saturday, they need to get up anyway. So you're backup, and I'll go in for the kill. Got it?" she said, mock-saluting him.  
  
"Yessir!" Cloud responded, all serious. Aerith took a deep breath, flexing her fingers. Then she erected her back, walked straight over to the two, and shook Yuffie roughly by the shoulder.  
  
It didn't take long for the scholar to wake up, blinking in confusion as she tried to get Aerith into focus. The room wanted to shift out of her view, possibly because she felt extremely disoriented: this wasn't her bed, this wasn't Aerith's couch, or even Cid's couch . . . where was she? But then she felt it - or, rather, felt him -- underneath her, still asleep and forcing her to freeze where she half sat up. If she sat up, she would wake him up, and she didn't want to do that. He was always trying to sleep late, and from what she could remember, it should be Saturday. Or maybe it was Friday . . . she shook her head. If Aerith had come all the way over here, it had to be Saturday. No classes on the weekends, that was why. A larger, bulkier figure was in the background - Cloud? What was he doing here? She rubbed her head, utterly confused.  
  
"Man . . . I feel like a horde of water buffalo stampeded over me . . . and then dragged me out in the middle of the freeway. Migraine, migraine, migraine . . ." she muttered, rubbing her temples and trying to escape the headache that was pounding relentlessly on her brain. "Note to self: never sleep on a man's stomach; makes for a very uncomfortable pillow, especially when sick," she added, her voice hoarse. Aerith laughed quietly and offered the eighteen-year-old her watch.  
  
"It was ten-thirty and neither of us had heard anything from either of you in a long time. We kept calling and calling, and nobody picked up," the older woman explained, and Yuffie pushed herself gently off of Squall and walked unsteadily over to the closet. Vaguely she could remember throwing the phone in there in the middle of the night, then coming back and laying herself as quietly as possible against his stomach again. It had been an unwanted assault on her ears, and she hadn't even bothered to answer.  
  
After digging it out of one of the forgotten cardboard boxes in the pocket- sized closet, she chucked it at Aerith, unconcerned that her aim was off by about ten feet and that she hit a lamp instead of her employer. "Here," she mumbled, turning and flopping down onto the armchair and presently curling into a little ball.  
  
Cloud had managed to awaken Squall, who looked much like a bear coming out of hibernation. He growled out a good number of rather colorful words, and then turned over on his side to escape the assault that his friend was delivering. He twisted away from him until he finally gave up, spinning on his side and shooting the blonde man glares that shot daggers.  
  
"So," Aerith began, seating herself on the other end of the couch. Squall had dragged himself to his feet and was leaning against a wall, head in his hands and looking as if he might fall asleep where he stood. "Were either of you having . . . hallucinations . . . last night?" Aerith stammered, unsure of what to say. Surely it had been an odd sight, but it was a bit presumptuous to accuse someone of being delusional. Yuffie raised one eyebrow and Squall glared at her in between his fingers.  
  
"No. Usually a stomach virus doesn't do that for you," he ground out hoarsely, azure eyes gleaming like blue fire. Aerith muttered something incoherent and dropped her head, clasping her hands in front of her. Cloud took up where she left off.  
  
"T-then what happened?" he asked, worried. No, this wasn't happening . . . he was -touching- someone . . .  
  
"Why do you care? What does it matter?" Squall shouted angrily, storming off down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. Aerith closed her eyes until the storm passed, and then opened them to stare at Yuffie.  
  
"So . . . what did happen?" she asked quietly. Now it was Yuffie's turn to be mad; why were they prying into their lives? As if Squall had no compassion at all, as if she had no common sense or bravery to try and tame the lion!  
  
"What do you care? We fell asleep, that's all!" And, in a perfect mirror of her roommate, she stomped down the hall and slammed her own bedroom door.  
  
Cloud turned to Aerith, shaking his head slowly. The one thing they had come to the conclusion of was the one thing they did not expect.  
  
"They're not doing too well on their own . . ." Cloud began, a smirk twisting the corner of his mouth.  
  
"So we'll have to help them along!" Aerith finished, clapping her hands happily. "This is going to be fun."  
  
----~----  
  
Short, uneventful, but now Cloud and Aerith are conspiring to get Yuffie and Squall together - or at least to get them to admit their evil secret. Mwahaha! I am enjoying this -so- much.  
  
So, well, the faster you guys review, the faster you get the next chapter. Oh I'm so evil.  
  
Review Button: You know you want to. So stop fighting it and give into temptation! Click meeee!!! 


	10. Imperial

|Disclaimer: Go see other chapters for a full disclaimer. I'm too fed up with it right now -.-;;|  
  
----~----  
  
Aerith tapped the pencil's eraser against her chin, trying to think. Starbucks at one-thirty in the morning wasn't technically the best time to be preparing for a romantic . . . something-or-other (they weren't sure about what they were going to do yet) but proved to be a better time than during the day, as they had spent nearly the whole Saturday taking care of the limp-as-Aerith's-pasta Yuffie and the hibernating bear known as Squall. They had finally gotten the two of them to fall asleep without waking up after five minutes and complaining, and had also taken the liberty of setting the cordless by Yuffie's pillow and Squall's cell phone on his nightstand (where it was likely to get knocked off with the alarm clock) with a list of names and numbers to call should they wake up and need something. But now . . . now they were at a loss, after using their brilliance on the phone-by-the-bed bit.  
  
"How about Sachs Fifth Avenue? Yuffie can shop and Squall can buy her lunch afterwards," Aerith finally suggested, shrugging hopelessly at Cloud and tracing around the edge of her large black and white - or, the 'cookie of peace', if one watched Seinfeld.  
  
"Nah," Cloud said, shaking his head and taking a sip of his coffee. "Heard the food was three times as expensive - and that's saying a lot in Manhattan - and it sucks. Off the list," he said dully, and Aerith nodded once before lowering the pencil and striking a long, deep line along one of the many places she had listed. Nearly half of them were crossed out, either by her or Cloud - who, in her time of knowing him, had no romantic experience but knew Squall better than she - and they were running out of ideas.  
  
"Well, anything's better than the library!" she said angrily, then burst into a fit of giggles. She still could not believe that, for a first date, Squall had taken Yuffie to the public library. Cloud and her reminisced for a few minutes and then grew silent, contemplating their next plan of action. Aerith was just beginning to list all of Manhattan's restaurants in alphabetical order for the fifth time when Cloud snapped his fingers and jerked up his head of spiky blonde hair, a broad grin plastered on his face.  
  
"I'm a GENIUS!" he shouted, leaning over to kiss Aerith squarely on top of the forehead. The few other people in the coffee shop stared at him before shaking their heads and turning back around, but Aerith looked at him with confusion. He slapped his forehead, as if what he was thinking was obvious to everyone. "A show, Aerith! They could go and see a Broadway show! I mean, how cunning am -I-?" Aerith's eyes widened, and she stood, nodding furiously.  
  
"Cloud, I never thought I'd say this, but you ARE a genius. Oh, crap . . . did I just say that?" She shuddered for a minute, and then sat back down, mentally running through the shows currently playing. "Off Broadway or on?"  
  
"On, obviously."  
  
"Musical or a play?"  
  
". . . Musical. Yuffie doesn't seem like the type who can sit through something like The Crucible, no matter how many stars it has in it. And Squall . . . if we pick a good one, he'll deal with it. But something sophisticated, not really peppy . . ."  
  
"So I guess that rules out Mama Mia and Thoroughly Modern Millie?"  
  
"'Fraid so."  
  
"So what've we got left?"  
  
"Beauty and the Beast!" Aerith rolled her emerald-green eyes at him.  
  
"Yeah, right. Can you picture Squall, no matter how remarkable the show is, sitting through something like that? He doesn't believe in fantasy or anything. So . . . we just need . . . Phantom!"  
  
Cloud scratched his head, utterly confused, now. "What? Aerith, are you seeing things --?" Once again, the woman clad in pink rolled her eyes, and slammed her fist on the table.  
  
"No, stupid, Phantom of the Opera! It's perfect, don't you see? Its sophisticated enough for Squall, has great music which is sure to make Yuffie love it, and the whole thing is a big love triangle and a romance story! It's absolutely perfect! Man, if you're a genius, I'm a brain surgeon, Albert Einstein reborn, and a prodigy," Aerith said, grinning proudly.  
  
"Think we can get 'em tickets at the half price booth?" Cloud asked hopefully, but Aerith slapped him, looking appalled.  
  
"Dummy! Of course we can't, that's so . . . not . . . right! I mean, its perfect for a matinee or something, but we want evening performance, orchestra seats, and an event that'll make both of them ready to cry. So we go online," she replied simply.  
  
----~----  
  
"W-what? Tickets to a show? Are you crazy? What do I need these for?" Yuffie asked, completely confused. Aerith had given her orchestra seats to a nine o'clock showing of Phantom of the Opera - for free? She couldn't remember the last time she went to a show, let alone got tickets for free, and two at that. Aerith pointed, grinning from ear to ear, at the two tickets that Yuffie had plucked from the envelope.  
  
"One for you, one for Squall. A formal date, without stomach viruses or crabby librarians. C'mon, it'll be so romantic! And I guarantee you'll both love the show; I know I did. I'm sure Squall'll go with you if you say that you're going; I've seen the way he looks at you . . ." she added snidely, smirking broadly.  
  
"Shut up!" Yuffie shouted, going a brilliant shade of red. Kids were leaping around on the mats with Riku yelling at them to stop it and actually start the exercises they were supposed to be doing, but was having little luck. "But still, Aerith . . . this is a really big favor, and I'll never be able to -" Aerith cut her off mid-sentence, smiling serenely.  
  
"Do. Not. Worry. Just go and have a good time, and consider me rich, okay?" Aerith turned to go back into her office, but stopped abruptly, turning to face her with a bright smile. "And kiss him, please?"  
  
----~----  
  
Am tired. Very tired. Had to watch fifteen minutes of All About Eve, and then had to bandy words with my brother. As well, finished the extremely LONG first chapter of _A Chance of Rain_, my brand-spanking-new Lord of the Rings fanfiction. So, I'll do a shameless plug: if anyone likes pre-LotR angst, action, adventure, and Aragorn getting sick and Legolas getting injured and Glorfindel getting pissed, it's the story for you.  
  
Okay, bad chapter. But in the good news: Aerith and Cloud are geniuses, Riku's having serious problems with karate, and Squall's . . . still asleep, somewhere o.0 But, next chapter is going to be fuuuun: Yuffie gets dressed up, Squall acts like a gentleman, and Cloud and Aerith spy on the happy couple. Nothing beats that, right? And it'll be long. I promise!  
  
Review Button: To get rid of this horrid excuse for a chapter, please click me, and I will ensure that the next chapter does, in fact, sound good. 


	11. Event

|Disclaimer: See other chapters for a full disclaimer.|  
  
|Author's Note: Just a sidelong note that, if at any point in this chapter, things seem a bit . . . odd, its because I'm listening to the Two Towers soundtrack, and although some songs are quite angsty, the action ones get me excited, and things may jump around. Just a warning.|  
  
----~----  
  
"Are you ready yet?" Squall's voice reverberated around the near-empty apartment, although his heart wasn't in the coldness that the words suggested. He was far too nervous about the night that lay ahead of him, what with seeing a show - which he hadn't done in quite some time - and being with Yuffie. Just the mere thought of her made him lower his head and try and relax, try not to think about her. He yanked unhappily at the collar of his button-up white shirt, not liking these things at all and much preferring a plain T-shirt. He had also tried to wangle wearing his leather jacket, although Yuffie had put her foot on that and insisted he borrow a blazer from Cloud, which he scowled at in the bathroom mirror. He ran a thumb over the fading cut on his cheek, and then a forefinger over the scar between his eyes, tensing slightly at feeling the rigged skin.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Impatient!" Yuffie shouted back exasperatedly, although a fit of giggles afterwards said that she didn't mean it. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Don't think about what she's wearing, don't think about what she's wearing, don't think ab -  
  
He stopped in mid-thought, taking a step back as Yuffie glared playfully at him. Her short black hair framed her face perfectly, drawing attention to the navy blue ribbon tied around her neck, down to the simple, yet elegant, black dress that stopped just short of her knees. However, she didn't fear being cold; a pair of boots rose to just below the knees, making her only an inch shorter than him, when usually she'd be at around his chin or shoulders. She pivoted slowly, giggling at his look of sheer surprise, showing him the laced back.  
  
"Well, Captain Obvious, I see that you like it," she giggled, taking quick note of the fact that he looked a lot more professional without the leather jacket and twenty belts.  
  
"H-how do you expect to go into a Broadway show with clunky boots like those?" he snapped, trying to gather his callous attitude back but failing miserably. She waved the question aside impatiently, grabbing her wallet off of the coffee table and handing it to him.  
  
"You've got pockets, and I don't. Also, I'm not going in like everyone else carrying one of those stupid armpit purses," she explained at his look of confusion, and pointed seriously at the wallet, although her eyes were focused on him. "Be careful with that; the tickets are in there."  
  
"Whatever," he mumbled, tucking it into his inside jacket pocket. "Well . . . uh . . ." Yuffie raised an eyebrow at him; what did he want to say now? He couldn't be any less romantic already, so she had to assume that it was something -  
  
"You look . . . really nice. Beautiful, I mean beautiful," he stammered, tripping over his words and refusing to meet her eyes. She smiled broadly, which only made him blush. Reaching out, she grasped his wrist and tugged him towards the door.  
  
"I can tell that it's going to be a good night, don't you?" she asked excitedly as they scrambled down the huge flights of stairs. He took note of the stars glimmering in a crisp, clear sky through an open window, and smiled slightly, despite himself.  
  
"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "It's going to be a good night."  
  
----~----  
  
"Shove over, Cloud, I can't see anything!" Aerith hissed, trying to push her way through the throngs of people they had carefully camouflaged themselves in across the street from the Majestic Theatre. The St. James Theatre, where The Producers was being shown, had crowds of people milling outside with tickets in hand or hoping to get standing room only. Cleverly Aerith had suggested they watch the couple from the crazy line, and Cloud had thankfully agreed, but now it didn't seem like such a good idea; they couldn't see a thing. The Majestic's line was just as busy as St. James's, and they could only see a glimpse of Yuffie and Squall.  
  
"You think I can?" he spat back, pushing his way through triplets and fighting to get a space where the couple could be seen easier. "Wait, ahh - there!" He pointed a finger at where Squall and Yuffie were now exposed in the crowd. He squinted, trying to get a better view of them, but Aerith abruptly let out a soft squeal and clapped her hands over her mouth.  
  
"Oh, look look look! He gave her his jacket! Its so sweeeeeet! Cloud!!" Her emerald eyes were closed in delight as she hopped up and down, and then hugged Cloud so tight that he had to peel her off of him, gasping and struggling. Once he did, she looked him up and over with a frown on her face. "Hey," she said suspiciously, tapping her chin. "You never gave me YOUR jacket!" As she advanced towards him, Cloud quickly cleared his throat and pointed roughly towards The Majestic.  
  
"L-look! They're going in!" he said, attempting to take her wrathful gaze off of himself. She let out a girlish giggle and spun around, watching with intense eyes as they entered the theatre.  
  
"This is so exciting!"  
  
----~----  
  
"This is so exciting!" Yuffie looked around with wide eyes at the opera- like curtain that flounced delicately about the stage frame and then at the balconies attached to the walls seemingly seamlessly. The mezzanine was already overrun with people, and she grasped Squall's wrist firmly as she tugged him through the rows of seats and to the left-wing orchestra. She squinted at the tickets and found the seats quick enough, pushing Squall down beside her and hopping happily into the next seat. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, as he often did when nervous, and looked around with apprehensive eyes. "I know you're not a crowd man, but this is so neat!" Yuffie leaned forward in her seat and examined what looked like baggage that was tossed around on the stage.  
  
"Yeah, but, Yuffie . . . don't you think we're kind of . . . close?" he murmured, feeling uncomfortable with having the orchestra pit right in front of him, the very top of the conductor's head just visible. She clasped his hand excitedly, and he managed a weak smile.  
  
"No way! This is awesome!" she said with true enjoyment in her voice, looking around at the rapidly depleting seats. Squall shook his head and thumbed through the playbill, having gotten over the curiosity of seeing just a plain white mask against black on the cover.  
  
"Add for 'The Hours', add for Estee Lauder, add for Lord and Taylor . . . finally, the cast," he mumbled under his breath, trying not to hiss through clenched teeth as a few people made remarks about 'the girl with a man' in the front row. "Hey, Yuffie, the Phantom's Howard McGillin. Ever heard of him?" He turned to the eighteen-year-old, who had dropped her excitement and was seated tightly with her arms folded and her eyes turned down in anger. "Yuffie?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
"Do y'hear what they're saying? They think you've abducted me or something!" she hissed at him, and he saw tears in her eyes. It took him aback, and he put a hand on her bare arm, his coat over her shoulders. She looked up at him, confused.  
  
"Don't listen to them. They don't know what they're talking about, so ignore them. We're just fine, and you came here by your free will - well, maybe Aerith forced us into it, but besides that - so just . . . ignore them. It's alright," he said softly, and it took a moment, but she grinned up at him. And, after five seconds, she threw her arms around his neck and laughed into his hair. The people behind them let out soft sounds of shock, but Yuffie's eyes were closed in happiness, and she did not see their appalled faces.  
  
"You know, for a minute there, you sounded like you had a heart!" she said softly, and she heard him whisper back: "Who says I don't?"  
  
Just as Yuffie was about to respond, the lights flickered, indicating that the show would begin soon. They broke apart - both surprised to see the other move away reluctantly - and took their seats again.  
  
The show went without a hitch - it performed spectacularly, from the music to the Phantom bopping around the stage carvings and the chandelier sparking as it rose to the ceiling, and even Squall couldn't say that he didn't enjoy it. Yuffie was bouncing around trying to recite the lyrics from Music of the Night when they exited The Majestic, and Squall was trying to restrain his yawns.  
  
"It is twelve o'clock on a Saturday night . . . this is waaay past the time I drop off . . ." he muttered, maneuvering down West 44th Street with Yuffie clinging to his arm.  
  
"W-wait! Squall, stop, hold on a second!" the eighteen-year-old drove her heels into the street to stop her escort just a few feet down from The Majestic, and he turned to her with an exasperated expression.  
  
"What is it now?" he moaned, shifting both playbills into his back pants pocket since Yuffie wore his jacket. She fought to find the right words, and then gave up with a grin.  
  
"Uh . . . I don't suppose you could bend down?" she asked hesitantly. He looked at her oddly.  
  
"No," he responded. She huffed a bit and then realized that her boots helped a lot, and, after taking a deep breath, wrapped her arms around his neck, rose herself up on her toes, and kissed him squarely.  
  
----~----  
  
Finally! It's been long enough o.0 Okay, let me run something off: I did see Phantom of the Opera, but it was way back in December '02 during Christmas break, so I used my playbills, which might be out-of-date, although I don't know. But yes, everything should be fairly accurate . . . the opera curtain around the stage comes down to reveal golden carvings, the chandelier sparks and is pulled up to the ceiling, and, if you haven't guessed already, Music of the Night is my favorite song from the show. Hehe, afterwards we got to see Paul Newman coming out of Our Town, which was fun. We have his autograph on one playbill or another, somewhere . . . hmmm . . .  
  
In case anyone's interested, these are the shows I've seen, so anything suggested from them should be fairly true:  
  
Beauty and the Beast (for my birthday; VL! It was good, especially the ending; orchestra seats _rule_)  
  
The Producers (with Nathan Lane and Mathew Broderick; lots of fun and Jewish humor)  
  
The Crucible  
  
The Phantom of the Opera  
  
Aida  
  
Cabaret (hmmm . . . why didn't they go see that? I dunno, that was really peppy . . .)  
  
There you have it. Anyway, maybe one or two more chapters after this; this was sort of the climax, so to speak. And it was looong! So review! Please! I mean, it took the entire Two Towers soundtrack to write it! (on Gollum's Song, the last song, right now). 


	12. Broadway

|Disclaimer: See other chapters for a full disclaimer.|  
  
----~----  
  
It had been an extremely long walk to get from 247 West 44th Street to Central Park, and it was especially not good for Yuffie, whose feet were most comfortable in a pair of old sneakers. But she had insisted on doing so, that someone or something MUST be out even at this late, that even if there wasn't anything the police were still roaming around on their shaggy Clydesdales and wouldn't mind a young couple staring at them. Squall, not in the mood to argue, had let her drag him the whole long way, past Fortuneoff's and the Plaza to the dimly lit park that was practically empty.  
  
Even now, as they strode idly through the trees with Yuffie's arm latched around his waist and grinning up at the trees, there was hardly anyone here; not that they could be blamed. At one o'clock in the morning, it was hard to see anyone out in Central Park, just waiting to be robbed even with the police clomping by. The eighteen-year-old had her head tipped back to look at the patches of sky through the trees, and her neck hurt so fiercely when she finally brought her eyes down earth that she raised her free hand to rub it. A lamp gave them both a soft glow as the passed under it, and the horizontal scar between Squall's eyes was visible as they walked in the light. Yuffie squinted at it and raised a finger, tracing down the length of the ruined skin. He winced visibly but made no move to stop her.  
  
"How did you get that?" she asked quietly, stopping and pulling him off of the path and onto the grass and shoving him onto one of the large boulders that dotted the park. She scrambled up beside him, curling instinctively into his side. He gave a resigned sigh and put an arm around her shoulders.  
  
"I got into a street fight a few years back, when I was still a junior in college - Columbia. Please don't ask me how I got in there when I can't get up in the morning. Anyway, it was me and my roommate, Toshiro - weird kid, man; he scared me - going to the Port Authority. We had driven from the university into central Manhattan for the day to meet up with his friend, some guy named Cloud - funny how things work out, as Cloud is my boss, now. He had just graduated at NYU then, and was applying for his teaching job. Or something like that." He shook his head, and Yuffie cuddled against his side to stay away from the cold, looking up imploringly at him, which was her signal for him to start talking again. "Whatever. So, we were almost there, and we noticed a couple of guys driving out of the Port Authority - with our car. I mean, that doesn't happen very often - you know how many cops are there? - but still, it was Toshiro's car, and we seriously lost it. Him, being half-Japanese, just leaped into it and threw himself in front of the car, and they jammed on the brakes. I grabbed one guy and yanked him out, and Toshiro just ran at another one when he came out . . . one thing led to another, and the guy I was trying to deal with grabbed a shattered wine bottle off of the side of the road and just . . . cracked it over my forehead. I must've passed out, because when I woke up the cops were there, asking about what happened, and I couldn't move. I wanted to kill that guy," he said, hands instinctively clenching into fists.  
  
Yuffie put a hand by his neck, massaging his shoulder slightly with one hand. He flinched, but didn't move away - it made the anger go away, somewhat. "I can't imagine what that must've been like. Did you have to go to the hospital?" she asked quietly, examining the scar with squinted indigo eyes.  
  
"Yeah, but I wouldn't let them stitch it up - I nearly gave one of the doctor's a matching one when he tried to touch me. So I made them leave it, and ta-da - there it is. Not a very glamorous story, like . . . a battle between two rivals, or something like that." [A/N: That was how Squall got his original scar, in a battle with Seifer, his worst enemy, in Final Fantasy VIII. He ended up giving Seifer a scar that mirrored his own. I love irony.] He grinned coyly, absently running a hand through his hair. Yuffie caught it as it dropped and held it, then lowered it onto the boulder and thrust herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest. He blinked a few times before he laid his own hands gingerly over the younger girl.  
  
"You know, I'm half-Japanese, too. I could reduce you to a bloody pulp if I wanted to, just like Toshiro. Where is that guy, anyway?" she said, grinning into his shirt, her voice slightly muffled.  
  
"He owns a restaurant on the street across from the Stage Deli, near the Virginia Theatre. I ate there one time, shortly after graduation - it wasn't half bad, for foreign food. He wanted to be a doctor, and I assume he's going to medical school, now. He's really weird; he used to carry around shurikens and stuff - like you." Yuffie beamed at the compliment and managed, in some unexplainable way, to produce the Asian weapon out of her boot, shifting it so that it glinted in the lamplight. For a few minutes they sat there, with Yuffie twirling the ninja star absently in her fingers and Squall running a thumb repeatedly over the scar.  
  
"Do you like Playstation?" he asked suddenly, startling Yuffie out of her subdued thoughts. She blinked a few times before replying, grinning and leaning forward, planting a small kiss on his nose before withdrawing. Despite himself, he grinned.  
  
"Yes." She giggled girlishly, and then added, "But it has to be the second one, 'cause the first one's crap." He nodded.  
  
"Good. I'm addicted to that stupid thing. Cloud told me yesterday when we were about to leave the university to come over his apartment after the show, that he and Aerith would be there, no matter what. He's got this new game I'm dying to try; what say we go over there?" He stood gallantly and swept Yuffie easily off of the boulder and into his arms, cradling her gently. She giggled insanely and buried her head in his chest.  
  
"Sure, but what's it called?" she asked as they started out of the park, the lights of Manhattan possibly even brighter at night than during the day.  
  
He shrugged, trying to remember. After a moment, he grinned; it was a miracle he had remembered. He stated, quite proudly: "Kingdom Hearts."  
  
|----~----|  
  
I lied. It's done.  
  
I had random inspiration and it wouldn't leave me alone till I used it in this chapter, and I really wanted that to be the ending line. I thought it was pretty creative, but you guys don't have to . . . *sniff* Anyway, there was quite a long delay in this chapter, as school started today! I've got a locker, Advanced Multicultural Studies (which was the one thing I DIDN'T want), algebra and cryptology, and all of that fun stuff. Plus I ripped this huge chunk of skin off of my toe and it really hurts . . .  
  
Anyway, besides that - it's done! I may or may not put up one tiny little piece after this, it all depends. And if I do - BE surprised! Be VERY surprised!  
  
Whatever. Thanks for everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, who reviewed from the beginning. I expected this thing to be some lowly little ficlet, and WHAMO, I've got fifty reviews! That's almost close to _Exile_, but number one grossing fic - 61, which is -not- a lot. I'm a pathetic writer, as you see. But besides all that, I want to thank everyone, even if you didn't review but just read it randomly:  
  
(in no particular order)  
  
annjirika  
  
ObsidianSorrows  
  
Jade Stellar  
  
Vulpes Lapis (as always ^^ Get on with _Paint the Sky with Stars_!)  
  
Heather Christi  
  
Natsu-Aoki  
  
Yuffieleonheart  
  
Lilkimmee  
  
Eiko  
  
Mind's End  
  
Vivi  
  
N00bster  
  
BatGirl  
  
DarkKairi1  
  
PJPrincess  
  
[insert your name here]  
  
*pants* Long list! *wipes sweat from brow, nose, and above lip (lick there after running some time; it tastes good! *avoids scary stares*)* Anyway, farewell, thank you ALL, and cheers!  
  
Tenna' ento lye omenta,  
  
Ellyrianna  
  
Táro  
  
Michelle Dawson (one of my new teachers called me that today . . . its so off base I think she pulled it from another planet . . .)  
  
Bobbi  
  
Elly 


End file.
